


Hope, Home, Peace

by Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Shippy, Slow Burn, ignores a good deal of eu, loosely following movie canon, rated for curse words, really just fix it shipping stuff, what if
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 09:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16595372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome/pseuds/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome
Summary: A look at what might have happened, had the heroes of Rogue One survived.Each chapter will align with one of the three original trilogy movies.  Chapter One looks at the impact of the destruction of Alderaan on Jyn, and Cassian's ways of helping her heal.





	Hope, Home, Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: this fic has been... abandoned until further notice. I've written FAR better R1 since then, so go read my other ones

When the news of Alderaan’s destruction spreads through the base, Jyn is sleeping. Cassian makes sure of it, tucking the standard issue blanket around her tighter, and then, he locks the door. From the outside.  He’s already checked to ensure there’s no comm device in the small room they certainly don’t share. No way at all for her to hear the news from anyone who isn't him. He'll take on that burden. He's the only one who he trusts to do so, with any of the gentleness she'll deserve, though she certainly won't offer it in return. He might get punched. Or at least, slapped. Because she'll blame him, or she'll say she does, when really, she'll blame herself more.  
Ever since he woke up in the med bay a few days ago, it feels like that most of what they have in common.  Both of them, blaming themselves. Both of them, terrified of the future.  
And neither of them equipped with the words to move past it all.

He leaves K2S0 guarding the door and starts down the hall. Bodhi collides with him only a second later. He jumps backward, and Cassian is the one who has to reach out, to catch him, hands gentle on his wrists, thumbs stroking skin, reminding Bodhi he’s safe. It’s hard to be a former imperial on a Rebel base.

It’s hard to be a survivor.

“Hey, hey,” Cassian says. “Just me.”

“Ah. Ah. Good.” Bodhi nods. His eyes dart, though, still searching for the ghostly threats that follow him. “How is she?”

“Asleep.”

Bodhi lets out a breath, the same thing Cassian did when he realized she’d slept through her nightmare coming true. The weapon has been used, and the galaxy is darker now than ever. he’ll blame herself, as she has since the mission. They might have escaped with their lives and the plans, but part of her, part of all of them, is back on that awful hellscape of a planet. Part of all of them died, when they learned that the plans had been lost. Even if they'd gotten them to the princess. Even if they'd completed their mission, they had still failed. Now the princess was gone, and so was their hope.

Bodhi fills Cassian in with what else he’s heard, which isn’t much. The princess is still captured, the plans haven't been found, all of his crew still gets scowls from the other rebels.  Why couldn’t they have done more, is the general concession. No one cares for the amount they’ve suffered, what they’ve lost. They see only setbacks to the mission, the same way he used to think.

Before her.

Before things changed.

“She’s going to want to go in,” Cassian runs a hand through his hair.

“S-s-so do I.” Bodhi nods.

He doesn’t point out that a pilot who’s so jumpy he can’t even speak straight isn’t going to be much help in a rescue mission. Better a pilot with a good heart than a captain with a broken one. Because she told him she’s not ready for anything. That he can hold her at night, but they can’t be together outside of the little room. 

It’s too soon, she said.

It’s too much.

And if she can’t handle the idea of a relationship, he knows damn well she’s not going to be able to handle the news of Alderaan’s destruction.

Maybe Bodhi is right, and what they all need is one more mission. One more chance to find some hope. One more chance to win.

He nods.

 

* * *

 

THey’re not given permission to go. Of course not. Mon Mothma states they’re more valuable here, on the base, where they can serve as an inspiration to other troops. She isn’t even looking at them as she says it, instead, she stares at some battle layout for a fight that might never happen. With that Death Star, land battles will soon become a thing of the past.

“Inspiration my ass,” Jyn snarls. She's still wearing the clothes she had on the night before. Her eyes are red from tears, but other than that, there's no telltale sign of the anguished screams she'd let out only hours ago. When he'd told her. When he'd had to watch her heart break, all over again, and know that once more, there was nothing he could do to heal her. “We’re to blame. If we had gotten those plans…”

“Miss Erso,” the woman begins, her hands held out. She's so calm, so peaceful, despite how her precious rebellion teeters on the edge of failure. Rebellions might be built on hope, but they're burning through that fuel pretty quickly.

“That’s Lieutenant Erso,” a voice snaps, cold and harsh. It takes Cassian a second to realize it’s his own. That it’s his hands that are clenched into fists, and his heart that’s racing. “She’s signed up for this damn war, same as any of us.”

“I….” Mon Mothma considers them for a moment. “I do apologize then, Lieutenant Erso, Captain Andor, but we simply cannot risk losing you. We must believe that those plans will make their way back to us and that we will be able to destroy the Death Star before it strikes again. The Force will show us the way.”

“The Force? That’s what we’re trusting now? Not battle tactics?”

He looks over to see her clutching that crystal she holds when she’s scared. He’s furious, at himself, at Mon Mothma, at this whole damn rebellion for breaking her again, just as she’s started to heal. Maybe they should have run away. Stolen a ship, and jetted off to the Outer Rim to scrape out a living. To find a home. 

No. She's been running her whole life. She's hidden before. She's done hiding. He needs to respect that, even if it terrifies him. He can't make her find a safe home. But he can promise himself that he'll always be safe for her to come home to.

“Captain. Please. Your orders are to stay put.”

He growls an acceptance. The two of them leave Mon Mothma’s quarters together, K-2SO clanking in step behind them. That familiar heavy percussion of a footstep makes him feel a little better. The anger slowly flows out of him, a little more with each breath.

“We’re not staying put, are we?” Jyn whispers under her breath.

“Nope,” he responds, a grim smile on his face. He’s rewarded with a matching one from her.

The droid chimes in. “Would you like to know the probability of this plan’s fai-”

“No.”

They say it in unison, with eyerolls that synchronize too. It’s a small thing, but enough of a thing for their smiles to warm, just the smallest fraction.

For a little hope to creep in.

They need that hope, and it turns out, so do the rest of the troops. The same people who scowled at them are all too happy to help them commandeer a ship, gather the needed supplies, sneak out under Mon Motha’s nose.

“I was wrong about you,” one X-Wing pilot says, passing a second blaster over to Cassian. “Your team. They’ll do anything for the Rebellion, won’t they?”

“We’ll do anything for each other,” he replies. It’s almost the same thing, but not quite. “We’re family.” Minus two members, who needed more medical healing, who ended up on another base, and who no one has thought to tell them about. They're on his list of missions and he knows that he'll be seeing them soon. Once he gets Jyn up and running, then, they'll go and find their friends.

Together.

The pilot’s face splits into a smile. “You know, I’m naming my squadron after you guys.”

“You… what?”

“Yeah. You Rogues. You’re what this rebellion needs. You’re our best hope.”

He doesn’t say that if a turncoat, a spy, a broken-hearted girl, and a reprogrammed droid make up the Rebellion’s best hope that they’re probably all damned anyway. Instead, he says, “do me a favor. Tell Jyn that.”

“Oh. I…”

“She’s one of us. Treat her like it.”

Words are all well and good, but actions matter more. He’s testing the pilot. Daring him to treat Jyn like the hero she is, and not the target she had once been.

The pilot crosses over to where she’s checking her rifle and speaks to her softly.

* * *

 

It’s not until they’re in hyperspace that she mentions it. She opens her hand to show him a small medal, the cheap sort that’s all the Rebellion can afford. If someone wanted precious metals for proof of their daring deeds, they'd enlist for the Empire. Then again, that was a better choice if someone found their own life the most precious thing, too. “He said it was for my bravery.”

He smiles at that until she keeps talking. “But if they value my bravery so much, why do they only cheer when we leave?”

He closes his eyes for a long, long moment. It’s the span of silence that carries the memory of people he’s killed, friends he’s shot in the back. “Because heroes are safest when they’re out on a mission, soaring into some story, and far, far from everyone else's safe little reality.”

“Yeah…” her voice is a tired echo of all he feels. They're crammed together in the cargo area of the stolen ship, close enough their knees bump together. He reaches out and dares to touch her cheek. His thumb brushes over her soft skin, making her lift her gaze to him. “I’d rather be at your side than safe anywhere else.”

“Cassian…” she begins. She leans in, closer, closer. There’s so little space between them, until…

“There is an 85.7% chance we will be engaged with TIE-FIghters upon…”

“Out!” he snaps at the droid, pointing to the door, furious. Where had K2SO even been? He’d thought he left him in the cockpit with Bodhi. He'd been  _sure_ they'd eeked out a little alone time, before this crazy plan starts up. That's all he had wanted. A few minutes with her. A tiny fragment of something he almost wanted to call peace. A moment of what he was afraid to name happiness.

Because if he called it happiness, then it couldn't last.

“Yes, sir. The Fighters will most certainly be outside.”

“Yeah, and your tin ass is going to be outside too if you don’t shut it.”

Jyn laughs then. The sound is short and sudden, echoing only for a moment in the small ship, but it resonates longer in his heart. It’s the first chuckle he’s heard from her since Alderaan’s destruction.

It’s worth everything to him.

That's the sound of his hope, he realizes. He’s not in this fight for the greater good. Not right now. He’s got one goal, and that’s her. He’s going to make her happy or die trying.

“T-minus ten until we’re at the Death S-S-tar!” Bodhi’s voice crackles over the intercom.

“Let’s do this,” Jyn says. “What’s one more battle?”

“Hang on, there’s a … looks like a Corellian ship… looks like it’s in some tractor beam… Cassian! Take a look!”

He calls back, “Follow that ship in!”

 

* * *

 

In the end, they win that battle too. He’s not sure it feels like a victory, not when all he can see is more deaths, a rising toll that will not end until the Empire falls. But he’s kept those closest to him safe, so he marks it as a small success, another page in a battle journal he wishes he could stop turning the pages of.

He drops his boot-brush then and swears as it bounces down the hall from him. He’s moving slowly, with his arm in a sling from a stormtrooper with surprisingly good aim. If it hadn’t been for that kid, with that damn sword right out of a childhood tale, slicing the trooper’s arm off, he’d have been a goner.

The kid’s name is Luke. He needs to remember that. Has already considered him adopted into the strange little crew-family he’s got going, even if the Threepio unit and K-2S0 are about as incompatible as motor oil and star blossom wine. But the kid’s got the same thing uniting him as the rest of them.

Grief.

That beast with claws as fast and unexpected as an Acklay’s, and pain that lingers like a vesp’s bite. Luke misses the old man, who was allegedly the great general Kenobi, though Cassian, as always, remains suspicious. Him and that smuggler both. Solo was the easiest of the new group for Cassian to understand. He sees something similar in the Correllian's eyes, that deep distrust that comes from years of self-preservation. Only, in Solo's case, it’s clear his preservation had no greater goal, unlike Cassian’s. Not that Cassian fools himself into thinking he's noble for doing that, instead of Solo's choices. He’s always tried to keep himself alive for the rebellion’s sake. There's no nobility in war. Just death. Just the slow dwindling of hope, as the losses grow and the darkness looms.

It wasn’t until they were deep inside the Death Star itself that he realized he’s keeping himself alive for her, now. Because she’s grieving too much already, and he’d be damned if he lets himself be one more pain point for her to carry.

“Now, where did that brush go,” he mutters, squinting in the dark of the stony hall. Yavin 4’s temple might be comfortably solid stone, but it isn’t exactly the most well-lit of bases.

“Looking for this?” Jyn’s voice asks.

He lifts his head, and then, loses his words entirely.

He’s never seen her in a dress before. He’s never, he realizes in that moment, seen her bare legs. Not like he really sees them now. The deep red dress only teases a flash of bare calf with the way it’s cut, a long slit traveling up to fabric wrapped tight around hips that he, of course, knew she had, he just had never…

“Eyes up here, Andor.”

He snaps to attention and is so flustered that he actually salutes. That earns him a smile, which is more beautiful than any other part of the gown. “It’s not mine,” she explains, which is such a self-explanatory fact that he has to tease her.

“Really? I was thinking you might have stolen it from that trash compactor.”

“Why you…” she smacks his good arm, hard.

He laughs, catches her hand. The red dress has a deep v of a neckline, showing off creamy skin, and the smallest hint of…

Shit. The one thing he really, really, shouldn't be thinking of. He focuses instead on the ruffles that wrap around both of the dress sleeves. They look a little like seaweed, and that keeps his thoughts more aligned with what they should be, heading into a memorial ceremony.

“The, uh, princess, gave it to me.” Jyn fidgets, tugging at one of the ruffles. “I don’t think we’re exactly the same size, though.”

No, they weren’t. Jyn had certain… assets that Leia did not. Not that Cassian would ever admit to having thought that about his commanding officer. So, instead, he offers, “You’re taller.”

“Gotta admit it’s nice being taller than someone,” she says in reply, and he’s glad to see that smile stays a little longer. “You don’t clean up half-bad, captain.”

He bows his head at her, half-polite, and half trying to hide his blush. “Where’s Bodhi?”

She… giggles then, a sound that is both delightful and unexpected. “He’s… a little occupied.”

“No…” he starts slowly, putting two and two together. Remembering how Bodhi had embraced Luke after the young man had exited his X-Wing. How the two had stayed, a little longer than was perhaps necessary for a normal celebration, in the tight hold of each other’s arms. How Bodhi had _supposedly_ retired early from the game of Sabaac with Cassian and Solo last night. Seems Cassian wasn't the only one dreaming of finding peace in someone else.

Good for him.

“Oh, yes.” She offers her arm like she’s the gentleman. He takes it but pauses to tug the little bun of brown hair on the back of her head. Only that hasn’t changed, despite her dress.

“Hey!”

“I’m surprised your new friend the princess didn’t give you tips on this.”

“It’s not like I can do all that… fancy shit she can, with her hair.”

No. She can't. She doesn't need to. She didn't even need that dress to be beautiful. Her very determination, her courage is more attractive than anything she might need to put on. “I think you’re plenty fancy.”

“Thanks, captain.”

“I do.” He protests, just before they meet up with the others at the edge of the entrance. Beyond that door lies all the assembled troops of the entire Rebellion. Beyond that door waits the Princess herself, with fuckin’ gold medals, one for each of them.

Beyond the door waits fame and acknowledgment and celebration. All the things he might have dreamed of, as a younger man. Dreamed of, when he wasn't dreaming of peace. Even that seems a little closer now, a little less of a dream.

But all Cassian wants is right here, found in the shy smile of the woman next to him. That smile is all he needs. It’s hope, and it’s joy, and it’s home.


End file.
